The Secret Life of a Romance Novelist

chapter one

Isabelle glared at the Duke with disdain, "We may be betrothed, but if you think I won't oppose this marriage to my last days, you are highly mistaken."

But Duke Rumford didn't bother to bat an eye at her venom.

"As you will, Miss James, but nevertheless, we will be married, like it or not," he replied, voice cold as a frozen winter's night.

"You are absolutely intolerable!" Isabelle cried, resisting the urge to hit him with her fan. But she did storm away, getting the last word and greatly improving her mood.

Would no one listen to reason? She and Duke Rumford were a horrible match! Why did she have any say-

"Iggy! Come on, your break ended like two minutes ago!" Hannah said throwing a towel at Ingrid St. Mont, who was sitting on an over turned bucket.

Ingrid stuck her phone back in her purse and stood, straightening her regulation green Starbucks apron. With a quick check of her hair in the reflection of the back window, she followed Hannah back out behind the counter.

"What were you doing anyway?" Hannah asked, a little too cheerful and a little too familiar. But that's the way Hannah was, a wannabee actress from west coast, now attending NYU, she was pretty and preppy but hadn't quite learned that in New York City being cute wasn't going to get her anywhere.

"Texting your boyfriend?" she continued, bumping shoulders with Ingrid.

Ingrid stood very, very, very still, "No."

And please don't touch me, she added mentally.

Walking up to the cash register, Ingrid plastered on a fake smile and said, "Hi! Can I take your order?"

Two bubbly teens leaned on the counter. If asked to pick them out of a line up, Ingrid noted that she'd be hard pressed to tell them apart, what with there matching hair, make up, and Jucy Couture track suits.

"Oh my god! Your name is Iggy?" one of them gasped, "Just like Iggy Azalea!"

"Oh my god!" the other cried, "That's so cool! I'm like obsessed with Iggy Azalea!"

"Totally obsessed!" the first agreed.

"So," Ingrid dragged the word out as long as she could, "You guys want something to drink?"

It was going to be long day.

"Have I mentioned how much I hate Iggy Azalea?" Ingrid demanded of her friend Liling over Chinese take out that evening.

"Yes, actually, many times," Liling replied, mouth full of noodles, "Ad nauseam."

"Well there were these girls in today and they were all like-" Ingrid began, but Liling cut her off.

"Oh em gee, I'm so obsessed with Iggy Azalea!" Liling mimicked.

"YES!" Ingrid cried, "Why do they all say that? It's creepy! Like a hive mind or something!"

Liling rolled her eyes and, still holding her chow mein in one hand, walked over to Ingrid's book shelf.

"So did hot guy who you will tell me nothing about come in today?" she asked, picking up a small romance novel called Taken by Her Alien Mate by Rosetta French.

"No, but it's Saturday, he usually only comes in on weekdays," Ingrid darted across the room to take the book from Liling before she suspected anything.

Linling looked at her friend, "You ever going to tell me about him?

Not that she should suspect anything, it was just that Ingrid was paranoid. She was worried that her friend would find out her secret- and it wasn't just that her mystery crush was a forty something year old business man.

No, Ingrid St. Mont's biggest secret was that she was Rosetta French, multiple award winning romance novelist. She penned twelve novels ranging from Taken by Her Alien Mate to Her Handsome Hero. All had ended, inexplicably, up on the New York Time's best seller list.

"Maybe, if you tolerate another rant about Iggy Azlea," Ingrid said.

"I know, I know, she has your name-"

"-And she's not doing it right!" Ingrid finished.

Linling laughed. There were a lot of stereotypes out there about supermodels, but she defied all of them. Funny, a slob, and ridiculously smart, Linling and Ingrid had been friends since they'd collided out side of Ingrid's Starbucks, mutually dumping their coffees on the other person.

If love at first sight applied to platonic relationships, it was definitely that.

Liling looked down at her container of take out, "Uhg, out of food. And I need to get going, I have a shoot tomorrow at, like, the crack of dawn, and need my beauty sleep."

"Ew, yes, go, leave, go to bed!" Ingrid took the box.

"See you later babe!" Liling blew her a kiss, letting herself out.

Ingrid plugged her phone into her computer, uploading the few paragraphs she'd written on her brake to the word document containing her latest novel. The working title was I wish this was little less patriarchal and a little more feminist, but my editor tells me that "arranged marriage to a Mr. Darcy-esc character" is a good idea (and why do I find this idea so attractive? It worries me).

Sometimes she wondered if she books were just a drop in the bucket. She wasn't the next Jane Austen, but she hoped, at least, her stories brought people a small sliver of happiness.

Ingrid took a shower. She took out her contacts. She put on pajama, and her glasses. Then, with ear buds in and mood music on, she went back to work on her novel.

Would no one listen to reason? She and Duke Rumford were a horrible match! Why did she have any say in her fate?

Isabelle fumed, stalking into the parlor and slamming the door. Unfortunately, there was no one present to witness this anger filled display of unladylike behavior.

"Miss James!" Mary Beth, and Isabelle's maid, rushed in, "Thank goodness I found you! A letter arrived for you, but I dare say, it's not from any gentleman I've heard of!"

Mary Beth giggled, scandalized.

Cool to her last, Isabelle picked the letter of the tray Mary Beth has set it on. But once the maid had left the room, she squealed, tearing open the envelope. Another letter from her secret admirer!

Miss James, (the letter read)

I agree with you, it is a horrible tragedy that you are engaged to a cad-like duke! Unfortunately, you'd probably think me ever more a cad, and thus our elopement is out of the question.

Isabelle laughed, if only her fiance was this mysterious gentleman and not Duke Rumford!